


This Unbearable Lightness

by suburbanmotel



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Best Friends, Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs in a Car, Boys Kissing, Complicated Relationships, Falling In Love, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Friends With Benefits, Friendship/Love, Hotel Sex, Hotels, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sleeping Together, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 07:43:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13700001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suburbanmotel/pseuds/suburbanmotel
Summary: It’s hotel rooms and tour bus bunks and the backseats of cars and it’s fun and games and it’s all so easy until it’s not any more.Zayn and Liam are both struggling through their solo careers after One Direction and they find themselves going back to old habits. Or, the one where Zayn and Liam used to be together but it got complicated and now it's a whole new level of complicated.





	This Unbearable Lightness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [officialangelcas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/officialangelcas/gifts).



> A/N: I love my angst oh boy do I ever but I love my happy endings more. So here, dear recipient, is your lovely angsty prompt with a lovely happy ending. Hope you enjoy : )

\--

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down that feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.  
_— Richard Siken, Crush_

Love is the longing for the half of ourselves we have lost.  
_— Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being_

\--

Before

it all gets complicated, they sing and laugh and perform and play and Liam never gives it a second thought, never even questions it, at least hardly ever. After all, it’s him and his boys and they are going to conquer the world together, all five of them. Everything is bright and shiny and theirs for the taking and it's all so _easy_ that Liam never even thinks that it might not last. When you’re young and successful you don’t think about the future, not so much, but that’s what being young is all about, isn't it? Especially when it’s fun and fast and busy, with new cities and new countries and it’s screaming fans and photoshoots and signing autographs, and it's tour buses and fancy hotel rooms, but it's so much more than that, it's doing what he loves with people he loves and it's writing and travelling and singing and it's, and it's—

—and it’s Zayn. Of course it’s Zayn. It’s him and Zayn gravitating together naturally, right from the start, and the rest of the world just falling away. Liam doesn't know how or why it happens, but it does, and he's too enthralled and too _young_ to question it too much. Late at night in their bunks when they’re together, talking about anything and everything, late at night texting and Skyping when they’re apart, late at night with his hand down his pajama bottoms, biting back a moan as he comes hot and hard in his bed. He’s never known anyone like Zayn before, so very different and yet so much like him, so easy to be around, to talk to, to share everything with. And the way Zayn looks at him sometimes, on stage when they're performing during interviews when they're alone when they're surrounded by strangers who just want to see and to be there breathing the same air, it just takes his breath away. It makes everything hurt in a way he is helpless to describe but it makes everything better too.

But he’s so happy he can barely stand it some days. The happiness just bubbles up inside him, filling up all the old, sad empty and lonely chasms from the time before the band and making him feel so light he could just float away into space. He smiles and the smile fills up his whole face, “grinning ear to ear” like his Gran used to say. _There goes Liam,_ she’d say, _grinning ear to ear._ And that’s exactly what it feels like. There's not enough room and there's not enough words and there's not enough anything to capture what all of this and Zayn means to him.

But as months follow more months and the band's success escalates and their fame balloons, and he hears the screams in his sleep and when he can't sleep he stares at the ceiling at the wall at the swirling water of the toilet in the aftermath of a sour stomach, sometimes the lightness is so much and it’s too much and it threatens to overwhelm him, to envelop him and fill him right up and carry him away. Away where? He’s not sure but it’s not a good feeling then, not a happy feeling, and it fills him with a panic he can’t name. He tends to think too much always has — _Where are you right now?_ his Gran also used to say as she passed a hand in front of his face. _Come back to the land of the living, Liam_ — and even though he’s young (You're _so young_ , the interviewers gush), and he shouldn’t think about the future so much, shouldn’t worry about what lies ahead, should just enjoy the here and now and bask in the glory (his parents reassure), he can’t help it sometimes, after a show, after yet another new number one, after thousands of screaming fans hurt his ears and make his heart jackhammer in his chest, in his head. Liam watches Zayn on the stage singing, smiling, waving, watches him signing endless autographs, watches him hugging fans while glancing over at Liam and winking or biting his lip just a bit, and his love for him fills him up and chokes him because he _can’t stop thinking_ and he envisions the future, the years and years to come, his life at 20 at 30 at 80, and he honestly cannot imagine that life without Zayn in it anymore. He honestly doesn't _want_ to.

On nights like these, when he's vibrating and strung tight and breathing too fast even after he's stopped running around the stage, he retreats to his bunk or his room or the back of the bus and curls in on himself, eyes squeezed shut, hands clenched tight, willing himself to stay rooted to the earth, to reality, to _the land of the living_.

And on nights like these that's how he is when Zayn finds him pressed against the dark wall of his bunk, breathing heavy and hard, his whole body trembling with the exertion of trying to hold all of it in. His breath whistles in and out, hurting his chest, making him light headed. He bends right over, head near his knees, everything too big, too much, too hard.

“What is it?” Zayn is beside him in an instant, warm hand on the back of Liam’s neck, squeezing, stroking, up to his sweaty hair and down to the top of his spine, brushing against the hard bones there, little icebergs under trembling skin.

Liam just shakes his head, leans a little into Zayn’s solid warmth, wanting, wanting. Words won’t come.

“Can’t tell me?” Zayn says. He knows. He always knows. “Ok. I’ll just sit here with you, is that ok?”

Liam nods and leans in further, forcing his muscles to loosen, the very effort making his whole body shake.

“Liam—” Zayn murmurs. He sounds quietly frightened and knowing that, knowing that Liam has done this, made him sound that way, forces Liam to speak.

“I just,” he starts. He takes a deep shuddering breath. “I just.” Zayn keeps stroking and stroking. The bus is moving now, wheels shuddering beneath them, rocking gently and between that familiar constant motion and Zayn’s familiar lulling touches, Liam can speak more freely. “It gets too much sometimes. Too much. All of it. You know?”

He feels rather than sees Zayn nod in the semi-darkness beside him. Streetlights shine in through half-covered windows, slices of yellow light cutting across the floor, across the bunks, across their bodies.

“I feel like I’m going to just float away sometimes.” He says it quietly but he says it because he wants Zayn to know. He knows Zayn won't laugh at him or ask to him explain, even though it sounds so stupid but somehow in the closeness of the bus it feels safe too. It's the first time he's ever voiced these feelings out loud but Zayn never stops touching him. “I’ll just float away and go higher and higher and then disappear.”

“Come here,” Zayn says, his voice low and quiet. “Come here, Liam.” And Liam shuffles forward best he can and Zayn pushes Liam back onto the narrow bunk, pushes him down so he’s lying flat and still on his back. His heart hammers up his throat. He can feel himself starting to choke, can feel himself panicking again but then Zayn is there, on top of him, lying flat, every inch of him covering every inch of Liam’s body, holding him down, anchoring him to the bed, to the bus, to the earth. Zayn isn’t big but he’s muscled, and he’s heavy, and his muscles and bones are holding Liam down in the dark.

“That better?” he says, and he’s whispering now.

Liam nods, tears prickling behind his eyelids. He feels his heartbeat slow, regulate, feels his throat unclench, his muscles loosen, unclench, everything slows.

“I won’t let you float away,” Zayn says. They rock gently with the bus, back and forth. Zayn pushes down harder. Liam can feel Zayn's heartbeat against his own, between the cloth of their shirts. He can feel Zayn’s warm breath on his cheek, on his throat. He can feel the flutter of Zayn’s eyelashes against his cheek.

“Ok,” Liam says. He moves his arms at last, wraps them around Zayn’s narrow chest. He clutches his fingers together and presses them together on Zayn’s back. Zayn pushes down harder, harder still. Hip bones and clavicles, knees and ribs.

“I won’t let you go,” Zayn says. He sounds sleepy now. Liam lets his own eyes close. He’s so tired.

“Ok,” he says.”

“Ever,” Zayn says so quietly Liam wonders if he’s imagined it.

“Ok,” Liam says. Then he says, “Promise?”

There’s a pause, a long one, one that makes Liam think Zayn has actually fallen asleep. But then, finally:

“Promise.”

And they smile together because right now it feels like a promise they can keep.

\--

After

it all gets complicated it’s pretty much exactly what Liam feared would happen all those years before. He has finally become untethered, has floated away at last, far above the earth, far away from friends and family, far away from everything and everyone who matters. Far away from Zayn.

The band breaks up, because of course it does, that’s what bands do, everyone knows this, especially when they become too big, too successful, too everything and everyone wants to spread their proverbial wings and try their creative hands at their own thing. Everyone knew it would happen and even though Liam himself knew it would happen, when it finally came down it, when everything finally imploded and they were done their final concert, final party, final goodbyes, he still couldn’t figure out how it all came to be.

 _What happened?_ friends ask when they see him at events. _What happened?_ his family asks when he is alone and near tears with them, late at night in his parents’ kitchen. _What happened?_ ask the reporters and the photographers and the screaming fans at his new shows, his solo ventures, his pap walks, and Liam always pauses before he replies, remembers what they’re actually asking about. It always takes a minute because he knows they’re not only asking about the band, exactly, they’re also asking about Zayn. Him and Zayn. LiamandZayn who were so close for so long and now seem to barely speak to communicate to care. And Liam can only give half smiles and half shrugs and says, over and over, I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know.

And it’s mostly true.

He knows they all want to do their own thing, create their own music, exercise their own control. He knows this and he gets it, because he wants it too, oh so much. He just didn’t want it to happen like this, everything fractured and separate and terribly isolated. And lonely. Some days the loneliness is so crushing he can hardly draw a full breath. It hurts to breathe. They all stay in touch of course, because how could they not? But instead of long lunches and lie-ins and cuddles on couches it’s texts and it’s emails and Skyping and meeting up for a quick dinner or drinks after one of their shows and it’s fine, it’s all fine, until it comes to _Zayn_ because being distant from Zayn is never fine, never was and never will be.

Liam tries to pinpoint where it all went horribly wrong but it’s like trying to hold quicksilver in his hands. There isn't any fight, no big blowup that led to The End. No nasty text message, no dismissive and cold and final voicemail. And it isn't even a breakup at all because they were never officially together, were they? Yes, they kissed and touched each other, mouths and teeth scraping, breathless and hard in bunks and backseats, and they talked about the future, about grand plans and never losing touch, but were they ever _boyfriends_? No. Or were they? Liam tries and tries to remember exactly what they were to each other and clearly what he remembers is not what Zayn remembers because if it was they’d be together now and they’re not. Now they’re phone calls and texts and occasional Skypes. They're memories they're nothing special and there was no definitive cut-off, only a soft and sad fading away. Zayn fading away. Texting less often, phoning less often, simply being in Liam’s daily life less often.

“It’s complicated,” was all Zayn would say on the rare occasions when Liam could gather the courage after months and months to ask what was going on.

“Complicated how?” He hates how needy his voice sounds, how lost and alone and _scared_ he sounds because it’s exactly how he fucking feels. Lost and alone and scared and needing Zayn and Zayn not being there again and again.

Zayn’s voice on the other end of the mobile phone is fading in and out, long pauses, weighty and gusty. “You’re busy, Li,” he says. “Trying to get your solo career going, yeah? You don’t need.” Another sigh.

“I don’t need what?”

“Distractions,” Zayn says but he says it like it hurts him, like he hates the idea.

“You’re hardly a distraction,” Liam says at the time, says it more than once, not that Zayn listens. He had made up his mind, Liam could tell. Or maybe he was a distraction, but a good kind, the best kind. “I don’t understand.” And he really doesn't. And he kind of does, too. And it _is_ complicated. He knows this. He isn't stupid, far from it, but when it comes to Zayn, he always kind of is. Stupid. Love does that.

“Liam,” Zayn would say, every time. Just his name and oh it hurt, they way he held his name in his mouth. And then it all came out in a rush, like a breaking dam, like words he’d been holding in for months. “You’re so fucking talented. You always were, of all of us. The voice, the writing, the stage presence, the dancing, the crowd interaction, all of it. Plus you’re so fucking nice.” This was followed by a laugh that didn’t really sound like anything was funny.

“Nice,” Liam echoes. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Kind,” Zayn amends. “You’re kind. And caring. Like, actually caring. And everyone adores you. The _girls_ adore you.”

“So?”

“So you don’t need me around. Management didn’t like it back then and they’re certainly not gonna like it now, fuck. You need to focus, you need to listen, ok? To them. Do what they tell you to do and everything will be fine. You’ll be fine.” Another long pause. “We’re all gonna be fine.”

Liam laughs at that, laughs but it hurt his throat. “Ok, Zayn. If you say so it must be true.” He was never very good at sarcasm.

“You’re gonna be famous, Liam Payne,” he says this very quietly before they say good-bye. And Liam says thanks, like an idiot, but he listens to him and he listens to his team and tries to remember that everything was going to be fine just fine. And they all end up being famous, in their own way, with their own music, but it’s Zayn’s path he follows most closely, heart kicking like a rabbit trapped in his chest when a song comes on the radio, when he hears him interviewed, spots him in a magazine spread, sees his song climbing the charts. He’s so fucking proud he could burst. He could scream it to the sky. But he doesn't of course. And there are girlfriends of course, not a lot, but enough to keep him looking straight and cool and the envy of both men and women. His team knows what they’re doing and fuck he always looks so good, even when he looks sad, even when he looks pissed off, even when his hands are bandaged and he’s wearing sunglasses on cloudy days.

Liam notices everything.

But he’s also busy with his own career, which is thriving, just like Zayn predicted. He’s always busy, it seems, and it’s harder than when he was in the band, because he’s alone, but it’s also rewarding, because it’s his work, his writing, his vision. And it’s confusing, because it’s what he’s always wanted, but late at night — always late at night — when he used to slip into Zayn’s bunk, or Zayn’s bed, to snuggle up close and wrap his arms and legs around a familiar slim body and whisper all his fears and accomplishments, now there’s no one.

And then Zayn texts him. They do text occasionally, it’s not that. Usually things like _Congrats on the song_ , _Congrats on the award_ , _Love the latest_ , _Sick outfit last week_. But this one is different. It’s simply, _Need to see you_. Liam’s breath catches in his throat and he quickly hides his phone before anyone around him can see. He finishes his interview and does admirably well — no trembling voice, no shaking hands — and he even waits another half hour after it’s over before slipping the phone out of his pocket and thumbing a reply.

_Yeah sounds good. Where and when_

Where turns out to be the hotel Liam is staying at for the week and when is that night. Zayn has just arrived in New York for a magazine photo shoot and interview and the scheduling is just too good to not take advantage. This is how Liam explains it to Janet, his latest assistant, who doesn’t bat an eye about his former band mate meeting him in his room for late drinks and catching up. She knows nothing about their past, doesn’t care, and approves highly of their need for privacy. Liam has nothing to gain from meeting up with Zayn in public right now and the only words of advice she throws his way before heading out is to get to bed early — “You know how the camera hates your face with less than seven hours sleep, Liam.”

He knows.

And he changes his outfit three times, finally decides on worn jeans and a soft, grey hoodie, hair washed but product free, loose and just starting to curl again and he paces and wonders if he should crack open a beer, but drinking might be dangerous, he doesn’t know why exactly, and he’s just heading to the mini bar to grab a bottle of _something_ when there’s a very soft knock at the door. Everything slows and slows and stops, his breath, his thoughts, his heart. There’s another knock, a bit louder, a bit firmer, and Liam snaps to attention, walks to the door and opens it, arranges his face into a warm and welcoming expression.

“Hey,” Zayn says.

“Hey,” Liam says. He opens the door wider and Zayn slips inside, quick and quiet as a shadow, brushing by Liam but not quite touching him. He smells like smoke and soap and a cologne Liam can’t quite place. That makes him inexplicably sad, that he doesn't automatically recognize Zayn's cologne. Zayn toes off his shoes and throws his leather coat on the nearest chair. He’s restless, Liam can see it right away, that old itch, bones rolling under taut skin, energy rising with no ready release. Liam’s room suddenly seems too big and too small. He doesn’t know where to sit. He doesn’t know what to say. He tries to remember the last time they were like this, this close and alone, no agents, no handlers, no fans, no photographers. Just the two of them. Months, he figures. Months and months and more months, adding up to a year, two years, maybe. He can’t remember. It scares him that he can’t remember, so he breathes in and out, in and out, clenches his hands at his sides and just keeps breathing.

“So how—” he starts, but then Zayn is on him, not kissing him exactly, but lips pressed hard at his jawbone, wiry arms wrapped around him, tight, face cold from outside pressed against his, cheek against cheek, stubble from his beard scraping Liam’s smoother skin. It’s sudden and completely overwhelming and he staggers back two steps, but Zayn doesn’t let go, just holds on tighter. He can feel Zayn’s harsh breath against his ear, can feel his heart thumping behind the thin cloth of his shirt. His whole body is trembling and Liam wonders in one moment of panic if something is actually wrong when Zayn finally speaks.

“Li,” is all he says, just one breath one syllable, but everything is contained within it, _I miss you_ and _I’m sorry_ and even _I still love you_ if Liam listens closely enough.

And it’s happening before he even questions it, not that he wants to, because he probably knew it was going to happen from the second he read the text, from the second he replied to it, from the second he opened the door, to the second Zayn had his mouth on Liam’s cheek, all of it leading to this, tangled and naked and panting on the generic king-size hotel bed, beige sheets, beige comforter, clothes kicked to the end of the bed, off the bed as they take turns pinning each other down, take turns kissing and sucking and groaning and—

—and it’s almost violent, is what it is, and Liam is giving as good as he gets, a mouth for a mouth, scraping teeth for gouging nails, bucking hips for thrown-back head. There are few words exchanged because it turns out they still know each other’s bodies well. Liam knows how Zayn responds to the quick flick of his tongue up the back of his cock, how he favours small nips at his collarbone, full kiss on his lips just before he comes.

He remembers everything.

Zayn is slower with him, more methodical, more _earnest_ Liam thinks as Zayn kisses down his neck and chest, sucking at tight nipples and scraping over ribs and hip bones. But he remembers that Liam loves Zayn’s hands, his fingers, tight around his aching cock and then loose, light then coaxing, the full weight of his attention on each part of his body. The room is filled with their heaving, rasping breaths, with grunts of encouragement and surprise, the gleeful shock of release.

Liam comes with a shout that startles him. He’s usually quiet during sex, not that he’s had many partners since the end of the band, no time and no privacy and frankly, he realizes, no interest. But Zayn, of course, brings this out of him, this passion that he usually tries to stifle, afraid of what it means, afraid of where it might lead if he let it. With Zayn he can’t control it, never could, and that realization alone frightens him.

They lie sweating and tangled in beige, breaths slowing, hearts slowing. Liam realizes Zayn’s hand is in his hair, his baby curls, rubbing slowly.

“You like those,” he says, his voice tired. He feels Zayn nod.

“Makes you look young again.”

Liam laughs. “Arse.” He digs a finger into Zayn’s side, but there’s no heat to it. Zayn plays along, squirms and laughs and pulls away but then comes back just as quickly, dragging Liam’s pliant body against his, hard, harder, tucking Liam’s head under his chin, fingers still dragging through his hair, damp with sweat. There are a million things Liam thinks to say, a million questions, a million declarations, memories, plans, shit he’s written in his fucking _journal_ that he would only say to this boy — this man — curled around him, but it turns out he can’t say anything at all and just as he feels himself completely relax, Zayn is tensing up and pulling away.

“You’re leaving,” Liam says before Zayn can say it himself. Hurts less, he thinks, to pluck those words from his mouth and make them his own. Zayn nods and swallows, throat working hard.

“Early start,” he says, eyes cutting to Liam’s. “You too, I’m sure.”

“Always,” Liam says. He keeps his voice light, professional even, and he’s proud of that. He’s World Famous Singer Liam Payne, and even though he just made the former love of his life come with his hands and his mouth, he has a breakfast meeting with his next potential girlfriend and her team and he has to look gorgeous. He needs his seven hours, at least, according to Janet. He watches Zayn gather his clothes, shuffle to the bathroom, door shut, sliver of yellow light spilling onto the carpet. He tries to not think about anything. Zayn emerges, cool and collected and coiffed. He slips on his shoes, hovers, deciding, then sits on the edge of the bed, right on the edge, Liam notices. He’s ready to bolt if he needs to. Liam just stares at him.

“Now what?” Liam says. _Are you going to call text will you stay in touch are you going to disappear again?_ He says none of this out loud, of course, but somehow Zayn knows because he always knows because he knows Liam.

“Let’s just keep it simple, yeah?” Zayn says, but his voice is low and he doesn’t meet Liam’s eyes.

“Simple,” Liam echoes. He hopes his voice doesn’t sound like he feels which is sad and lost and desperate. He attempts a laugh. It’s not successful.

“Easier that way,” Zayn says. He’s looking down at his hands now. If he moves at all he’ll fall right off the bed.

 _Easier for who?_ is what Liam wants to say, but instead whispers, “Promise?” and Zayn still won’t look at him. He reaches out and squeezes one of Liam’s hands with his own. His fingers are cold again. He stands and he walks and he leaves and he never says yes or no.

\--

Before

it all gets complicated they go for long drives together at night. Liam gets his license on his first try and never looks back. Zayn loves these nights best because it’s just the two of them and the dark of the car and the road and the music. He sits slumped in the passenger seat, feet propped on the dash, left side right side, depending on which country they happen to be in at the time. Liam’s an excellent driver, always careful but he knows when to take risks, when to make it fun. Zayn never feels scared, not even when Liam takes a corner too fast or guns it over a hill or slows down a little too late for a red light. He doesn’t worry because it’s the two of them together, the way it's supposed to be.

Liam glances over at Zayn as they sing along to songs on the radio, whooping and hollering when one of their own happens to come on. On nights like this Liam feels invincible and light, light as air but in a good way, in a way he wishes he could hang on to forever. He doesn’t need anyone to keep him pinned to the earth on nights like these and he can’t stop _smiling_ as he guides the car from one place to next with no particular destination in mind but it doesn’t matter because it’s the two of them alone together.

 _I love this boy,_ he thinks as they drive and drive and drive. _I love this boy beside me, sitting in the dark and bobbing his head along to the beat of the music_. He loses track of what they’re listening to. It doesn’t even matter because it’s him and it’s Zayn and the road ahead and underneath and his heart feels so big it could burst.

He loses his virginity in a car. His blow job virginity, anyway. He loses his love virginity too.

 _I love you_ , he wants to say, as they drive and sing and swap stupid stories and jokes. _I love you,_ he thinks as they clamber into the back seat, bony and breathless and already sweaty. _I love you so much,_ he mouths as Zayn brushes lips over his, tongue against his, hips against his. He wills Zayn to understand as he presses open-mouthed kisses to his neck. _I love you I love you I love you_ as he fumbles with the zip of Zayn’s jeans, working them down over slim, eager hips, pushing against the hardness there. He’s never done this before but he wants to learn, he wants to please, he wants to succeed like he does at everything he tries. And he seems to succeed as he looks up at Zayn with his dark head thrown back, tendons standing out in his neck, mouth open, eyes shut. And when he’s done Zayn is on him in an instant, returning the favour and doing a spectacular job. Liam grips at anything he can find, which ends up being Zayn’s hair, but Zayn doesn’t seem to mind, even at the end when he gasps and twists and pulls.

They lie together in the dark, grinning and sated and not saying much of anything at all. _I love you,_ Liam whispers, but not nearly loud enough for Zayn to hear.

“Let’s keep driving,” Liam says louder and Zayn does hear this because he nods and sits up a bit, pulls Liam’s pliant body into a tight hug.

“Let’s keep driving _forever_ ,” he says into Liam’s ear. His breath tickles there and it smells like _sex_ and Liam squirms and laughs.

“Yeah,” Liam says, biting back his own grin. _Ear to ear,_ he thinks and grins wider. “We won’t ever stop.”

“Right,” Zayn says and laughs then stops. He looks at Liam. He swallows. “We won’t ever stop.”

“Ever,” Liam says. Then, “Promise?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, and grins and then looks away quickly because they both know it’s a promise neither of them can keep.

\--

After

it gets complicated they rarely spend time together alone unless they’re naked and panting in some anonymous hotel room, white sheets shoved to the foot of the bed, white walls, lighting low, TV on no sound, light bouncing around the room off sweating muscles. Liam tries to be quiet because he doesn’t want to give Zayn the satisfaction of knowing how good it makes him feel, these familiar hands on his body, that familiar mouth on his neck on his hip on his cock. He gives nothing away until the very end, his body tight and bowed, head thrown back, mouth open and working soundlessly like the neglected telly.

After he’s come he lies spent and heaving, chewing on his lower lip and biting back all the words he can feel piling up behind his lips. _Hey Zayn_ , he wants to say, _remember when we used to drive? Remember those nights in those cars on those roads when we were so young it hurt and everything was pretty good and even though I worried about everything I never worried about us?_

He says, “We should go for a drive, like we used to.”

“What are you talking about?” Zayn says, his voice quiet and used up in the darkness.

Liam rolls over. He refuses to give up. “Come on. You remember.”

“I guess,” Zayn says. “It was a long time ago.”

“Not so long,” Liam says. “All those cities, all those countries. We just drove and sometimes we talked and sometimes we didn’t. It didn’t matter though because we were so happy just to be together. Remember?”

Zayn is quiet but Liam can feel him thinking. Can feel him remembering, against his will. Liam desperately wants him to remember. Finally Zayn nods, hair tickling Liam’s chest.

“I remember,” he says and it feels reluctant, grudging, like he resents being dragged into the past.

“Tell me,” Liam says, even though he knows he shouldn’t press, that it’s something they do not do. They don’t talk. They just fuck now.

And Zayn doesn’t answer. Liam didn’t expect him to, but still. The plunge of his heart surprises him, even as Zayn kisses him hard, fierce, biting at his lip and jaw and collarbones, punishing him for talk of the past.

Zayn is louder, not as loud as Liam remembers, but louder than Liam himself, little hisses and grunts, an occasional moan that brings a dusting of gooseflesh across Liam’s gleaming chest. Sometimes, at the very end, Zayn presses his head into the concave hollow of Liam’s neck and whispers hoarse and harsh _I remember everything_ and then just breathes and breathes and breathes and—

\--

Before

it all gets complicated they stay up all night buzzing with adrenaline and the heat and excitement of the show of the music of the life they’re sharing.

“Did you see all those signs tonight?” Zayn whispers against his shoulder. His fingers play up and down his chest, light, tickling. Liam shrugs, embarrassed.

“I guess,” he says.

“All those girls, and boys too, they love you.” He pauses. “Everyone loves you.”

“Ok,” Liam says, biting back a breathless laugh as Zayn kisses his shoulder, his collarbone, wraps lips around a nipple.

“You’re going to be so famous,” Zayn speaks against the rippling skin of Liam’s stomach.

“So are you,” Liam says. They’re both teasing and neither believes the other one. It’s a game they play on nights like this and no one ever wins.

“Not like you,” Zayn says, and he sounds so sure of himself. “You have it all Liam. You’re cute and fucking fit and your voice, god your voice.”

“Stop that,” Liam says because it’s too much, too big, too everything and it feels like something else is simmering under Zayn’s words, something Liam can’t quite put his finger on, the pulse of something that is there but slipping away and that scares him more than the words themselves. “Why do you keep telling me this?”

“Because I don’t want you to forget,” Zayn says.

“Forget what?” Liam arches and gasps and then it’s quiet in the room, quiet and still like they’re both waiting for something to happen.

“Me,” Zayn says at last as sweat dries on their skin.

“What?" Liam says. He feels like laughing.

“Don't forget me," Zayn says, but he says it quietly, and he won't look right at him, and Liam's heart cracks open.

“Like I could ever forget you,” Liam says and he kisses Zayn’s cheeks and his forehead and the sweet slope of his nose and his chin.

“Promise?” Zayn says quietly and he’s joking, Liam knows he’s joking, but at the same time he doesn’t think he is.

\--

After

it all gets complicated Zayn texts Liam when he’s drunk and Skypes Liam when he’s high and says things he doesn’t normally say on the other side of electronic devices. He asks about Liam’s _love life_ and Liam just laughs because they don’t ask each other about the girlfriends they’re forced to have. They see the photos of course, splashed across tabloids and gossip websites.

They follow each other’s careers, each other’s pap walks, each other’s beards, _babies_. They know everything but they talk about nothing because they don’t really want to know more than what they’ve read online, what they’ve heard on tv, on radio shows.

Liam knows about the two fiancées, and Zayn knows about the "child" and the paternity scandal. They file all this information away into Not Safe for Casual Conversation Files. Do Not Open Under Pain of Death.

It’s an unspoken agreement they’re both supposed to adhere to.

 _heyyyyy liammmm_ comes the text one night. Liam is alone in another room in another city, a bottle of beer on the bedside table. He had a late dinner with a producer which went well but he decided against the club invitation afterwards and came back to lie on a bed alone. He smiles when he sees the text. He can’t help it.

_I misss you. do you miss me_

Liam thumbs at his phone. _you ok?_ and then _yeah I miss you zaynie_

_ok good just checking you alone_

Always, Liam thinks. He types, _yeah I am. Are you?_

_there’s thousandssss of people here at this place I don’t even know_

Liam swallows hard. _ok have fun_

It’s a full half hour and a second bottle of beer before he gets a reply: _more fun with you here. Why aren’t you here why aren’t we together_

Liam has no reply to that.

Then there’s a phone call at 8 a.m. when he’s in makeup for a live TV performance but he answers because it’s Zayn’s name that flashes and he can’t not answer when it’s Zayn. He motions to the makeup artist that it’s Very Important and he sneaks off down the hallway to a small alcove so he can speak above a whisper. Zayn’s voice is rough and tired and Liam realizes he’s in New York and it’s the middle of the night there.

“What’s wrong?” Liam asks immediately envisioning any number of horrific events.

“Just wanted to hear your voice,” is the reply. He sounds like he’s got a cold or he’s mumbling into a pillow but Liam knows immediately he’s been crying, has just stopped probably.

“What is it?” he asks, heart up in his throat. “Are you ok? Is everyone ok?”

There’s a pause while Zayn collects himself. Liam can picture it, the dark room, the piles of blankets and pillows, Zayn’s sleep tousled hair and bleary eyes. He knows what’s happened.

“You had a bad dream, yeah?” And he can picture Zayn nodding and maybe even smiling a little bit because Liam figured it out without having to say a word. It happened sometimes, before it all got complicated, when they were twined around each other in small spaces, Zayn startling in Liam’s arms, jerking awake with a small sound and Liam soothing him back to sleep with soft words and soft touches.

“Something like that,” Zayn breathes and Liam can actually _hear_ his smile now and the terrible clench in Liam’s chest eases just a bit. “I’m sorry. I know you’re busy.”

“No no. It’s fine. It’s all right really.” He pauses, rubs the back of his neck. “I’m glad you called. I’m glad you still call.” He sounds stupid. He bites his lip. They’ll be looking for him soon.

“Yeah,” is all Zayn says. Liam hears a long yawn, the crack of a jaw, the rustle of him getting comfortable.

“Are you ok now?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says. He breathes out a long, relieved breath. Quietly, “Like I said. Just wanted to hear you.” Followed by a short pause and even quieter, "Thank you." Then the line goes dead.

Two weeks later they meet up in Los Angeles. Neither one gets here very often but Zayn is up for a VMA award and Liam is recording a duet for a movie so once again fate steps in. Zayn knocks hard at the hotel door just past midnight and stumbles in when Liam opens. He can smell the whiskey and the cigarette smoke. He watches Zayn slip off his shoes and his jacket like he’s done a hundred times before, watches him flop on the bed, watches him, close his eyes and sigh.

“You’ve been drinking,” Liam says unnecessarily. Zayn rarely drinks so when he does it’s pretty obvious.

"A bit," Zayn says. Then he says nothing.

“Congrats on the win tonight,” Liam says and he means it. He always does.

“Thanks,” Zayn says, drawing out the s for several seconds. He’s on his back, hands tucked behind his head, legs crossed at the ankles. His eyes are closed. He's been drinking but he's not completely relaxed. Liam can see that.

“You all right?” Liam says. He feels both irritated and concerned. It's annoying.

Zayn nods but doesn’t reply. Liam watches for a moment, then joins him on the bed finally, lying beside him but not touching him. He watches Zayn breathe, his chest rising and falling. It’s mesmerizing. He places one hand on top of his ribcage, feels the fluttering heart beat, the warmth, the _aliveness_ of him and it would be enough, it could be enough, just to stay like this for awhile. And while he’s lying there he feels that old familiar bubbling inside of him, that lightness building and swirling and filling him up, all the old panic and anxiety that threatens to pull him up and up and away from this room this moment this _boy_ lying next to him. His breathing starts to quicken before he can stop it before he can even realize it’s happening but Zayn hears it too. Maybe he hears it before Liam because in a flash he’s up and over and lying on top of Liam, his full length pressed down hard and comforting and solid. Liam closes his eyes and wraps his arms around Zayn’s chest, clasps his hands tight behind his back and pulls him down even harder. Zayn doesn’t resist. He rests his face in the space between Liam’s jaw and shoulder and just breathes slowly, calmly, waiting for Liam to do the same.

“Remember?” he says. “Remember when I used to do this?”

“I guess,” Liam says. _Yes yes yes of course I do_. And then, “It was a long time ago.” It was a long time ago and it was yesterday. He's forgotten and he'll never forget ever. They’re quiet for a minute before Liam speaks again. “What are you doing here, Zayn? What are _we_ doing here?”

Zayn lies long and heavy along Liam’s body, muscles and tendons and skin and bones, hearts and lungs, blood and veins.

“I mean we’re together but we’re not together, yeah?” He feels like he’s drunk, too. He wishes he was drunk right now. It would make all of this easier. “You’re here but you’re not really _here_. You’re the first person I want to talk to about… _everything_ but you’re not even my _boyfriend_.” His face flushes hot at that but he doesn’t even care. Zayn doesn’t move.

“I can go,” is all Zayn says at last and Liam wants to scream.

“I don’t want you to go. You're not listening to me. I don't want you to go. I want you to stay. I don’t know what it’s like to not have you in my life. I don’t know what it’s like to not love you. Do you even get that?”

He lets Zayn not answer for awhile. It's ok. He doesn't expect much at this point.

Finally: “You deserve so much more. So much better,” Zayn says this quietly. “I don’t want to sneak around and hide everything all the time.”

“We’re hiding now,” Liam says.

“I couldn’t…do this…like really do it and risk losing it. I don’t think you get what that would do to me,” Zayn says.

Liam gets it. He's been doing this long enough to get it. He wants to say that, but instead he says, “Well that’s pretty fucking selfish.”

Zayn nods. “Yeah it is. I know it is.” He laughs. “Of course it’s fucking selfish.” He kisses the soft skin on Liam’s neck but he still doesn’t move. “You deserve better,” he says again.

 _I deserve you. I want you_ , is what Liam thinks, over and over. _That’s what I want, even if we spend the rest of our lives hiding it. I want you._

“What about you?” is what he says instead. “What do you deserve?”

He feels Zayn’s mouth open against his neck like he’s going to speak but he doesn’t and Liam waits and waits and —

\--

Before

it all gets complicated they promise to stay together forever. They promise this to each other a lot. They lie curled together in a bunk, still and silent as the world sways around them, beneath them. Zayn is drawing on the bare skin of Liam’s back with one slim, cold finger. Liam tries not to shiver as Zayn draws long, elegant lines up and down, back and forth, lines and curls, dots and smiley faces. He draws Liam’s name, and his own. He draws their last names, connected in turn to their first names. He doodles, he presses down with his whole hand, palm flat and fingers splayed wide. Liam lies still and lets him do all this. Sometimes he tries to guess what Zayn is drawing. Sometimes Zayn just tells him. Sometimes he has no clue at all and those are the best times, like some secret code that only Zayn knows, inked skin on skin on his back embedded forever, sinking down through skin and fat and muscle, through blood and down into the bone.

“We’ll live together.”

Smiles.

“Buy a house.”

Giggles.

“Have a family.”

Laughs.

“Get married, yeah?”

Silence.

“Yeah.”

They make these promises like they mean them, but that was a long time ago.

\--

After

it all gets complicated Liam lies in bed alone at night and piles six layers of blankets and pillows over himself. He weighs himself down and down and down and pretends it’s Zayn lying on him. He envisions bones and skin and veins and eyelashes and hot breaths but it’s not the same. It’s never the same.

On another night, Liam texts him with trembling fingers in the back of the limo _yeah I’m on my way should be there in 10_ but it’s half an hour, almost an hour. He’s late and he knows it. He shows up late and half drunk and says _I can’t Do This anymore. It’s too hard_ , he says. _I want more than this_ , he says. He's swaying in one spot but he's focused in his thoughts and he's determined. _I don't want to be your fuck buddy. I never did I still don't I never will I want more I want everything we talked about and promised and said and I want what you wrote on my back and I want I want I want—_ He hiccups and fights back a vomit and he stops talking and wills his traitorous body to stop moving.

Zayn just looks at him from across the vast expanse of space that lies between them and nods like he’s been expecting it. He nods like it’s expected and it’s no big deal and it’s ok and it’s understandable even though Liam swears he sees him crumple, just a tiny bit, his face, his body, just a fleeting moment that he may have imagined after all.

That night he dreams about Zayn, of course. Zayn lies on top of him, pinning him down to the anonymous bed in the anonymous hotel room, covers his entire trembling body with his own.

 _I’m floating away,_ he says.

 _No you’re not. I won’t let you. You’re going to stay here, with me, forever,_ Dream Zayn says and he sounds so real and so sincere.

Dream Liam laughs, the sound muffled by Zayn’s jumper, soft fuzz in his mouth, caught in his teeth. Later he’ll pull a grey strand from between his teeth and remember and cry.

 _I can’t do this anymore,_ Dream Liam says for the last time as his lungs deflate and his racing heart slows and slows and slows —

\--

Right before

it all gets complicated Liam reminds Zayn of their promises in the dark. He knows things are changing and he knows Zayn is changing and he’s desperate to hang onto to those words whispered in the dark because he can feel them all slipping away along with Zayn.

“Things are going to change, Liam, you must know that,” Zayn says, and his voice is firm but sad.

“Yeah, I know,” Liam says. “I’m not stupid. Or naïve. I know things are going to change.” He pauses. “But not between us, right? We’re always going to be—” He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. Friends? Lovers? He doesn’t know. Zayn doesn’t finish it for him. He tries again. “We’re always going to be together, right?”

Zayn looks at him.

“ _Always_ , right?”

“Yeah.” But Zayn’s eyes are sad and he looks away, looks anywhere but at Liam, who is cracking his knuckles and chewing his lips.

And then everything changes and promises made in the dark, in the bus, in the car, in hotel rooms, they all just float away.

\--

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you.”  
_— Richard Siken, Crush_

“There is no perfection, only life.”  
_— Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being_

\--

After

it all gets complicated and after Liam tells him it’s over, really over this time, and after Liam spends three agonizing weeks wondering if anything will ever be the same ever again Zayn texts him and says he’s on his way over and to please be ready in 15 minutes. They’re both in London this time — a rare event — and it’s still early summer, warm with late June sun just starting to dip low in the sky. Liam doesn’t agonize over what to wear and he doesn’t wonder what’s going on or what will be said. He doesn’t feel nervous or anxious or sad. He doesn’t feel much of anything just like he hasn’t felt much of anything since the day he walked out of Zayn’s hotel room with the intention of never seeing him again. He’s expecting a car, a limo, driven by a nameless faceless employee or maybe one of Zayn’s regulars, but instead it’s a small sleek Mercedes windows tinted almost black, driven by Zayn himself. Liam slides into the passenger seat and buckles his seatbelt with slightly trembling hands. They’re alone in the car, inches away from each other and it suddenly seems all too real. He was expecting a lot of things but this wasn’t one of them. Zayn’s wearing sunglasses and a worn jean jacket and he’s holding the steering wheel in a death grip.

He nods in Liam’s direction but doesn’t say anything. They sit idling in Liam’s massive driveway, waiting.

“When did you learn to drive?” Liam says at last, just to break the silence. Over the years he’s seen Zayn drive, mostly fooling around, golf carts and go carts and the occasional actual vehicle but only for fun, only with a lot of supervision and never for long distances. Driving, he says, has always made him nervous. There’s too much to think about and he’d much prefer looking out the window or scribbling down poems and song lyrics or doodles while someone else helms the wheel.

“Is this ok?” Zayn says, like he’s unsure, like he needs Liam’s approval before he gets out of park.

“Of course,” Liam says. “I’m just. Surprised.”

“Good,” Zayn says and kind of smiles and squares his shoulders and they’re off. Liam grabs the door handle tightly but subtly. Zayn doesn’t notice because he’s watching the road ahead very intently. He’s not a bad driver by any means, but he’s nervous and because he’s nervous he’s making rookie mistakes.

“Been taking lessons,” Zayn says, eventually, his voice tight, lips drawn tight, fingers tight on the wheel.

“When?”

“We’ll talk in a bit, yeah?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“I just need to like. Focus.”

“Absolutely.” Liam smiles. He can't help it. “Focusing is good when you’re driving.”

Zayn nods and keeps driving, slow and cautious. Liam is able to relax a bit when they get out of the city, actually looking out of the window and not watching the road so much. It’s nice, it’s almost like it used to be, years ago, the two of them, laughing and singing, except this time there’s no music playing because Zayn’s already said once it’s too distracting. Liam doesn’t argue.

They park at the side of the road eventually and Zayn pushes his sunglasses up and expels a huge breath and flexes his fingers. "I need a break," he says, and it's almost an apology but it's not and Liam smiles and nods because he gets it. It’s quiet and just starting to get dark. The windows are down and they each light a cigarette and smoke quietly, not looking at each other. Liam doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know why he’s sitting in a parked car with Zayn outside of some town he doesn’t know. He’s not sure if Zayn just wanted to practice driving or if there’s something else, so he just waits.

Finally Zayn says, “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said last time we were together. And you’re right. I was treating you like. Like.” Zayn sighs. His voice is rough from the smoke. “I can't imagine you not. I mean. I can't imagine my life with you not in it. I can't." He pauses and swallows like it hurts and he looks straight ahead, at the road, the sky at, at everything that's not Liam. "I'd rather _try_ and like. Uh. Not have it work. I'd rather." His throat struggles, bobbing up and down. Liam watches it. He wants to kiss it. Zayn takes a deep steadying breath and turns to look right at Liam. He makes sure Liam is looking right at him before he goes on. "I love you, ok. I mean. I really love you and I’m in love with you and I have been for a long time but I couldn’t see us having the relationship I wanted with you. What you deserved.”

Liam stops smoking and just looks at him.

“I just wanted you in my life in any capacity. Any way possible.” Zayn looks away and tosses his butt out the window. His hand is shaking. “I've wanted you forever, I think. Yeah. Pretty much forever. And I knew everyone wanted you. And I knew how hard it would be for us. And I just didn't think it could happen. The way we both needed it. Wanted it. I wanted to take anything you would give, even if that was just sex in random hotels.” He coughs. He finally glances back at Liam. His eyes are so dark and so sad.

Liam laughs. He actually wants to cry, but he laughs, like a reflex. “But I wanted so much more than that. I told you. I tried to tell you.” He takes a long drag and coughs. He really needs to quit. His head is spinning. It must be the smoke. “At least I think I did.”

“You did,” Zayn says. He smiles. “You really did. I was just scared. Like, all the time, pretty much. You’re so much braver than I am. Always have been.”

“No,” Liam says. “I was just desperately in love with you.”

Zayn ducks his head. “It’s not gonna be perfect,” he says. It’s like a warning but he sounds scared. “It might not even be any good.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Liam says. “It’s us. It’s life, yeah?”

Zayn nods. He sags in relief. He looks like everything might be ok after all. “We can try, right?”

Liam grabs Zayn’s hand and presses his lips to the fingers, the palm, the thin skin of his wrist and it’s not an answer but it kind of is. He tugs Zayn in the direction he wants to go and Zayn nods and smiles and follows.

They’re in the back of the car when it reaches full dark, kissing slowly, hands cupping cheeks and jaws, smoky breaths and tongues tangling with each other.

“Remember this? Remember making out in the backseat?” Zayn straddles him, pushes down into him but there’s no heat, not yet, just pressure, reassuring and present. Anchoring. Later there will be everything, but right now no one is floating away anywhere, not alone.

“I remember everything,” Liam says, because he does. He holds Zayn’s hips, thumbs digging in. Zayn squirms but doesn’t pull away. They kiss and kiss and kiss some more.

“Let’s drive,” Liam says when they finally come up for air.

“Yeah?” Zayn smiles. He nods. “Where to?”

“Anywhere. Just. Anywhere.” Liam laughs. "You need more practice."

“Ok,” Zayn says and he's not even mad. He laughs and touches Liam's chin and laughs again. They untangle and climb into the front and look forward, where the road leads. Zayn starts the engine. He grins, biting his lip between his teeth. “Hang on.”

“I’m hanging on,” Liam says and laughs, because he is, one hand wrapped around the door handle and the other around Zayn's thigh. “Where we going?”

Zayn shrugs. “I dunno.” He grins. “We’ll just drive, yeah? Like we used to.”

“Yeah,” Liam says, biting back his own grin. _Ear to ear_ , he thinks and grins wider. “We won’t ever stop.”

“Right,” Zayn says and laughs then stops. He looks at Liam. He swallows. “We won’t ever stop.”

“Ever,” Liam says.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, and they smile together because right now it feels like a promise they can keep.

\--


End file.
